


I Just Need Five Minutes

by f0rever15elf



Category: Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Food mention, Pedro Pascal - Freeform, Swearing, alcohol mention, blood mention, death mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27091453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f0rever15elf/pseuds/f0rever15elf
Summary: Lord Corp has become the top business contender on the global stage, lead by none other than Maxwell Lord IV. His rise to glory has taken him from the lives of those he once loved, and you can only watch as he slips further and further out of reach. You had to stop it, before it was too late. You had to get inside.
Relationships: Maxwell Lord / reader, maxwell Lord / you
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. I Just Need Five Minutes

He was a genius. Shrewd, cunning, and charismatic. His way with words had everyone coiled tightly around his finger; he could sell holy water to the Pope if he wanted to. And with that silver tongue, that guise he wore to stroke the egos of those who ate from his palm and were none the wiser, he continued to climb higher and higher. More and more power fell into his grasp.

But a glass can only hold so much, and as his brimmed and spilled over with power and influence, so did he lose his humanity.

“Maxwell…what have you done?”

~~~~

_The sun shines brilliantly in the summer sky over the wide yard in front of the Lord estate. In the lush green grass, two children play, no more than five or six years old. A boy and a girl, giggling and laughing over jokes and stories told in funny voices. It is the picture of innocence, purity. The little girl picks up a flower from the small pile they had collected, tucking it behind her ear before finding a matching one, tucking it behind the boy’s._

“ _We match now!” she beams in a way only a child can. “It means that you and I will be together forever!” The boy blushes at her words, soft blonde hair blowing gently in the summer breeze. His face is gentle and kind, shy even as he watches her with bright brown eyes that shine in the light. Tentatively, he sticks out his hand to her, pinky finger extended._

“ _You gotta promise! It doesn’t work if you don’t promise!” His serious voice makes the girl giggle before she makes a serious face, wrapping her pinky around his tightly._

“ _I promise! Forever and ever.” The boy smiles and nods as she says so, repeating her words back to her before they both erupt into giggles. From the balcony, the mothers of the two children look on fondly over their cups of tea. The sound of the children laughing danced on the warm breeze, pleasant in their ears. If only things could stay like this forever._

~~~~

Your pinky twitches as you stand before the gilded doors of the Lord Building, looking up at its windows, blinding in the sunlight. You would get in. You had to. Things had been put into motion that you need to stop, but the only way to do so is from the inside. With a shake of your head and a sigh, your turn on your heel, heading down the street towards home. It seems that nearly every screen you pass on your way has Maxwell’s face on it, selling empty promises and loaded bargains. And every time you see his eyes, they look a little less like the boy you use to know.

~~~~

“ _Max can’t meet you today, dear,” your mother says, petting your hair. To an adult familiar with grief and loss, the tightness in her voice would betray the tumultuous emotions she feels. To you, she just sounds uncomfortable, and you tilt your head in confusion. Fourteen years doesn’t provide much time to become familiar with the concept of loss, so you shrug, saddened you wouldn’t get to see your friend today._

_Gone were the days of sitting in the grass to play, tucking flowers into each other’s hair. Maxwell was always busy helping his father to run the family business, and you would go months without so much as a word from him before he would show up at your door with a lily, smiling that dimpled smile at you. Promises always poured from his lips that it wouldn’t be so long next time before he came to see you._

_But today… Today would change everything. Today, Maxwell’s father died._

~~~~

The door to your apartment slams shut behind you with a thud, shutting out the hustle and bustle of Metropolis. It’s small, but cozy, filled with your plants to bring a little life to the drab living room and kitchen. Taking a seat in the living room, you pull out your computer from your bag as you flip on the TV. It’s Maxwell’s face again, smiling at you with the look of a used car salesman who swears he wants only the best for his favorite customer. You know it’s not a real smile. Maxwell has a dimple when he smiles, and this charade didn’t. You shake your head as his promises of whatever you want in this perfect future fill the room, your eyes refocusing on your laptop, refreshing your emails. One meeting…that was all you needed.

~~~~

_You let out a frustrated sigh as the door slams closed, your mother letting out a cry of surprise at the sound before coming to find you, resting a concerned hand on your shoulder as you throw yourself onto the couch._

“ _He still won’t see you?” Her gentle words just cause your heart to ache further and you nod._

“ _His mom greeted me, invited me in and made me tea. We chatted, but as soon as I asked about Maxwell, she stood up and ushered me from the house, asking me to not come by anymore since I couldn’t seem to stop asking for him.” You turn to look at your mother, tears in your eyes. “Why won’t he see me, Mom? Did I do something wrong?” Your mother’s heart shatters at the broken light in your eyes. She knew how much Maxwell meant to you, and that having him refuse to see you was tearing you apart._

“ _My sweet, you’ve done nothing wrong. Maxwell has a lot of responsibility to take on now that he’s running his father’s company. He’s very busy and doesn’t have as much time to see friends as he use to.” She brushes your hair behind your ear with delicate fingers. “I’m sure he still cares about you.”_

“ _I miss him, Mom. I miss my best friend. It’s been three years since I’ve seen him…” Seventeen years of life and you still struggle with keeping your emotions in check, especially when it comes to Maxwell._

“ _I know sweetheart…When the time is right, you will see him again…”_

~~~~

The alert from your inbox pulls you from your reverie, your eyes refocusing on the screen. As they do, your heart stutters in your chest

‘ _To Whom It May Concern,_

_We graciously thank you for your interest in Lord Corp. Mr. Lord has personally reviewed your product and would like to arrange to meet you on Wednesday at 3 p.m. You will have thirty minutes to make your sales pitch and answer any questions he may have. The front desk will direct you when you arrive. Please bring a valid photo ID and copies of your pitch for convince. Do not be late, Mr. Lord’s time is incredibly valued._

_Cordially,_

_Sam Preston_

_Personal Assistant to the CEO’_

You had gotten it. That moment you needed on the inside…you had finally gotten it. A relieved smile graces your lips as you begin to amass your files. You had one shot at this, it had to be perfect.

~~~~

_You stand alone in the cemetery as you watch the caretakers laying new sod over the fresh grave. Your heart feels hollow, and only the black lace veil conceals the tears streaming down your cheeks from the world around you. Today was beautiful; cool and still with the birds singing in the trees as the sun warmed the earth. It was too beautiful for a day filled with such grief._

_As the caretakers pack up their tools, one stops to rest a hand on his shoulder, passing along his condolences before continuing on his way. You nod gratefully before kneeling beside the headstone. It is modest, small and simple with a delicate engraving of a singular rose by your mother’s name. Black-gloved fingers trace along each petal and letter, your shoulders shaking with silent cries. You were now well and truly alone._

_You shouldn’t have had to be alone. He should have been there with you, you had made a promise to one another. You were there when his father passed, and his mother. He didn’t even have the time to attend his own mother’s funeral, but you did. You mourned for him as they lowered a woman close enough to be your second mother into the ground beside her husband. So why were you alone now?_

_Where are you Maxwell?_

~~~~

Your hands work to smooth the front of your dress down before you enter the lobby of Lord Corp. Slate gray with a simple black belt that held nicely to your figure but didn’t reveal too much. Professional and classy, with a dash of sexy. Nothing beyond anything any self-respecting company owner would don. Head held high and the bag you specifically reserved for important business trips and meetings over your shoulder, you make your way inside, up to the front desk.

“Welcome to Lord Corp, where the future is yours, do you have an appointment?” The intern who greets you sounds like every last bit of his soul has been sapped from him, and you pity him. Giving him a sad smile, you nod, pulling out your ID.

“I do, at 3 pm with Mr. Lord.” You give him your name as he takes the card, looking you up in the system before nodding, handing you back your ID and a visitors badge which you quickly put around your neck.

“Lily Solutions, you’re still on schedule. I’ll have you head down the hall. Take your first left, you’ll find the elevators. Take it all the way to the top and have a seat on the bench outside the double doors at the end of the hall. Sam will come and get you when Mr. Lord is ready for you.” You smile sweetly at the young man, thanking him before following your instructions. Your ears pop on the way up and you grimace, pulling out the folder with your ‘sales pitch’ inside, flipping through to make sure everything is in order. As the doors slide open and you make your way down the hall, you sigh. This floor was so much more opulent than the ground floor and you feel so out of place. Floor to ceiling paintings like the walls, depicting grandiose battles. Priceless vases and sculptures sit along marble pedestals. It’s like walking through a museum rather than an office, and your jaw clenches as you think about how he had come to acquire some of these items. When you reach the bench, you take your seat and cross your ankles to wait, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Lily Solutions?” The voice that calls out for you immediately grates on your nerves, high pitched and nasally. Looking to your right, so you a man in a pressed navy blue suit make his way towards you, and you stand to meet him, taking his extended hand. “I am Sam Preston, Mr. Lord’s personal assistant. Did you bring your requested documents?” The way he looked down his nose at you makes your blood boil, but you paste on the sweetest smile you can, nodding as you hand over the folder.

“You’ll find copies of all requested articles inside, neatly labeled for yours and Mr. Lord’s personal convenience.” Sam makes a disinterested sound in the back of his throat, snapping the folder shut before checking his watch.

“Very good. This way.” He strides past you and as soon as he is in front of you, you drop the sweet smile. Maxwell, why hire someone like him? You shake your head as Sam opens the door at the end of the hall, getting your salesman smile in place. “Mr. Lord, your 3 o’clock is here from Lily Solutions.” Sam ushers you inside and you are taken aback once again at how over the top the design of the office is. Floor to ceiling windows line the whole back wall with arguably the best view in Metropolis and the curtains that hang every so often are of a rich red velvet with gold filigree. The marble tiles cause the click of your heels to echo as you make your way to the center of the room beside Sam, your eyes locked on the man sitting at the large mahogany desk.

It’s been seventeen years since you last saw Maxwell, and your heart ached for the man who appraises you with shrewd and cunning eyes. With a wave of his hand, Sam nods, leaving the folder on the desk to make his way out of the room. The large oaken door closing echoes ominously through the room as Maxwell stands, coming around his desk to face you, hands in his pockets. If he recognized you at all, he didn’t show it.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Mr. Lord. I realize your time is very valuable, so I won’t keep you long.” Maxwell chuckles humorlessly at your greetings, leaning back against his desk.

“You say that, but you bring me this fake, garbage company in an attempt for a sales pitch?” His voice is rough and hard as flint, no trace of that gentle sound he once had. “What game are you playing?”

“No game, sir.”

“I don’t believe you.” He pushes off of his desk, walking back around it. “Everyone has a game they play, and if you’re not going to tell me yours, I’ll have you escorted out.” When he picks up the phone, your heart leaps into your throat and you dart forward pressing down on the receiver, cutting it off. He glares at you in disbelief. The audacity, he thinks, is astounding and he would make sure you suffer for it.

“Maxwell, please.” His eyes flash at the use of his first name, something in the way it sounds in your voice bringing him to pause. “I just need five minutes.”


	2. Second Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first meeting was an absolute disaster, so when the phone rings affording you a second chance, you take it without a moment’s hesitation.

“Please.” Your voice is softer now, staring at him intently. For a moment, no one moves. Neither of you dare even breathe and the weight of the tension in the room is stifling. You can feel the carefully concealed rage radiating off of Maxwell as his eyes bore into you, eyes that are so different from what you use to know. Those eyes dart down to your hand, still depressing the receiver before you slowly pull it away. He replaces the phone, and sits down in his chair.

“Five minutes. Then I’m dragging you out of here by your ankles. Do you understand?” His terse voice sets you on edge, but you nod, rummaging around in your bag.

“I had a feeling you might not remember me.”

~~~~

_The estate is so quiet without Mrs. Lord here, moving around and making a fuss of the décor. It had been quieter here since Mr. Lord had passed, but this was completely different. The house is cold and still and…empty. And Maxwell is nowhere to be seen. With a sigh, you continue packing items of the estate; things that you thought Maxwell would appreciate you holding on to and things you had taken a shine to during your younger years._

_Moving through the woman’s bedroom, you begin consolidating her jewelry. Nothing in this house was cheap, and you knew it. The idea of an estate manager auctioning all of this off at an obscene price causes bile to bubble in the back of your throat as you carefully pack the heirlooms away. You take pause over a single, delicate necklace. A silver chain with a sapphire heart pendant, rimmed in diamonds. A gentle smile graces your lips as you hold it, letting the chain run between your fingers. It had been a gift from Mr. Lord for their anniversary. You remember the look of surprise on her face when he showed it to her, how happy they had both looked while you and Maxwell watched from your spot in the yard. She never took it off after that day._

_You tuck the gorgeous piece into the box of things you elect to keep, moving to finish your rounds._

_~~~~_

“I see many people, every day. You can’t expect me to remember every ant that comes crawling through my doors, especially if they have nothing to offer me.” Where did all this venom come from, you wonder, trying not to flinch under his words as you pull out velvet box.

“It’s been 18 years, after all.” You give a small smile, still hopeful as you slide the box to him. “Something to jog your memory.” He scoffs as he takes the box, snapping it open. His entire demeanor changes when his eyes land on the necklace inside.

“Where did you get this?” His voice is drawn tight, quiet as the color drains from his face, his eyes not leaving the sapphire necklace.

“Your mother’s estate when I helped to settle it eleven years ago.” Your voice is gentle and soft, like you’re worried that speaking too loud would shatter everything around you. _Please, Maxwell. Please remember._ “They couldn’t reach you for the settling of personal effects, and she had no other next of kin, so my mother and I took care of it at the request of the estate manager.” Your heart seizes in your chest as you watch him, a cold sweat breaking out as he looks back up at you, a light of recognition barely there snuffed out and replaced with that same controlled rage.

“Where do you get the gall to come here with this?” The snap of the box closing is sharp and causes you to jump as he stands, resting his hands on his desk to lean towards you. When he speaks, it is through clenched teeth, his voice low and dripping with anger. “The audacity to lie your way into my company for an audience, to bring me this bullshit story? You expect me to believe this when I know the estate manager who settled her estate personally? I’ve decided you don’t get your five minutes, I’m ending this meeting now. Get out.” He turns, stalking to the window, the box white-knuckled in his hand.

“Maxwell…”

“I said get out!” You freeze, hand extended for a moment before dropping it to your side.

“Y…Yes, Mr. Lord. Thank you for your time today…” You turn, heels clicking on the marble tiles as you make your way to the doors, pausing before you open then. “If you ever remember…my contact information is on the papers I provided you.” He doesn’t even offer you the decency of a reply as you step out, the door echoing behind you as it closes you off from him once again. Maybe….maybe you were too late.

Behind the gilded doors, Maxwell seethes, trembling in his shoes as he stares out over the city. Who did this girl think she was, to try and pull something like this. He opens the velvet box, looking over the one of a kind necklace nestled gently in the white silk lining. Maxwell had very little to remember his mother by, the estate manager having managed to auction off almost everything without so much as offering to hold anything for him. But that didn’t matter, he had the company to attend to. This was his family’s legacy, and he would be damned if he let it fail. Slowly, he turns to look at the door, the sound of your heels clicking through his office still resonating in his ears. You were an odd one, a bold one. And you reminded him very much of himself. Perhaps…perhaps he could make use of you. He turns, taking his place at his desk before calling for Sam.

“Bring me a draft of a new hire contract, I have an idea.” Sam’s curt ‘yes, sir’ crackles through the receiver as Maxwell sits back. The world drank from his palm, and soon you would too.

You make your way from the building as quickly as you can, handing your visitor’s badge back to the front desk as you stride past while attempting to keep your head held high. The facade only lasts so long, as once you are safely shut into your apartment it crumbles. Sinking to your knees, you wrap your arms around yourself, attempting to provide yourself some sort of comfort as sobs wrack your chest. That had gone nothing like you had expected it to, but now you have no idea how you were going to get through to him. The only thing you find yourself able to think about is how cold and bitter he looked. How closed off he felt as you tried to make it through to him. How…foreign…the man you grew up alongside now felt. You were no stranger to rage and anger, but to see it so concentrated in Maxwell as he started you down like you were some maggot who had dared to crawl before him cut you to the core.

“Mom…what should I do?” you whisper, laying your head back against the door, waiting for the tears to stop. You had to figure out something… You had to.

~~~~~

“ _If anyone ever gives you a hard time, tell me and I’ll take care of ‘em!” The little blond boy puffs up his chest in an attempt to look big and strong, bringing a giggle from the little girl’s lips._

“ _You’re like a knight, Maxie!” She giggles, reaching out to ruffle his carefully combed hair, to which he protests loudly._

“ _That makes you a princess,” he mutters, trying to fix his hair. Twelve and ten this boy and girl were, and together they felt as if they could take on the universe._

“ _Your princess!” She exclaims, tackling him in bear hug that sends them both to the ground, rolling in the grass as they laugh. The joys and innocence of youth were untouchable here._

_~~~~_

Who do you turn to when your supposed knight rips your heart out and stomps on it in front of you? Where do you run to when the only place you want to be sends you away? Where do you go when home no longer feels like home? You have no idea.

Near a week has passed since your disaster with Maxwell, and you have lived them in a borderline daze, going about your day on muscle memory alone. You’ve taken to keeping your TV off, his commercials simply pulling a new wave of tears from you as you are reminded again and again about how far away from you he is now, closed off in his ivory tower. Could you really just give up? As quick as the thought rears its ugly head in your mind, you force it away. That was absurd. Maxwell needed you. Whether he believed it or not, realized it or not, he needed you. He had gotten lost after the death of his father, the man he admired most in this world. Little Maxwell was so much like him, so kind and gentle and genuine. To see what his son had become would have broken the man’s heart into a thousand tiny pieces. And you could not allow that to continue.

Filled with a renewed resolve, you find yourself returning to your computer, mouse hovering over the interns and careers tab for Lord Corp. If plan A didn’t work…it was time for plan B, apply for a job in the company. Lost in deliberation over if this is the right thing to do, the trill of your phone resounding through your home nearly sends you through the ceiling. Taking a breath to steady yourself, you answer.

“This is Sam, with Lord Corp,” the shrill, nasally voice replies. It’s amazing how even over the phone the sound of his voice makes you want to crawl out of your own skin. How he made it to such a high position within the company, you would never understand.

“Oh, yes, hello. What can I do for you?” You fight to keep the surprise out of your voice, honestly not expecting to receive so much as the time of day from Lord Corp ever again, much less a personal call.

“Mr. Lord requests a followup meeting with you. Apparently, you have struck his fancy.” The words drip with malice and disbelief. “He has a proposition for you, and requests you come by the company tomorrow at noon, sharp. Dress requirement is business formal for this meeting, and do not be late.”

“I…see. What is this proposition?”

“He will discuss that with you when you arrive. Mr. Lord is a reserved man. Only the people who need know the details of his decisions, will know the details. See you tomorrow, noon. Don’t forget.” Before you can get out another word, the line goes dead, dial tone sounding in your ear. You pull the phone from your ear, staring at it in disbelief for a few moments before standing to try and slap together your business formal wear. Second chances happen once in a blue moon, you shouldn’t squander this one.

The next day, you find yourself working up the nerve to actually enter the Lord Building. Your heart is racing loud in your ears as you head inside. That same boy at the front desk begins his usual lifeless greeting until he looks up, seeing you, and a little light returns to his eyes. You return his smile as he hands you the visitor’s badge, directing you upstairs again. He wasn’t so bad, you think, he’s going places.

As the doors of the elevator slide open, you fight to hold back an audible groan when Sam is waiting for you, this time dressed in a tacky tan corduroy suit. “Welcome back. Mr. Lord is waiting for you.” His eyes scan the power suit, distaste clear in his eyes as if he wasn’t dressed like the curtains your grandmother use to have in her house before she passed. He turns on his heel, leading you to the door. All the while his pants make that infernal rubbing sound distinct to the cursed fabric. Two raps on the door before he opens it, letting you in and quickly shutting the door behind you.

Maxwell’s back is to you, hands clasped behind him as he looks out over the city. You stay by the door, politely waiting for him to address you first as you fidget under the intense silence. Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, Maxwell speaks. “I have no idea how you got your hands on my mother’s necklace, nor how you knew it was my mother’s to begin with, but I am nothing if not a fair man.” He turns to face you, that fake, salesman smile on his face that makes your blood run cold. “So, I’d like to make you an offer.”

You clear your throat before speaking. “What kind of offer, Mr. Lord?”

“I’m in need of a personal secretary.”

“Don’t you have Sam for that?” You can’t help the distaste in your tone as you say his name, and Maxwell chuckles humorlessly.

“Sam is about as useful as a candle under water. But you,” he shakes his finger, pointing at you as he makes his way around his desk to you. “You have a tenacity I admire. Formulating this story to worm your way into my office, figuring out who this necklace belonged to, cutting me off when I attempted to call security on you.” He stops in front of you, far closer than you would have expected him to place himself, given what you had heard of his stand-offish behavior. The smell of his cologne is overwhelming, his closeness raising the hairs on the back of your neck. He smirks down at you, his smile still dimple-less as he tries to make this sale to you. “I could use that in my company. I could use someone like you.”

You stare up at him, praying he can’t hear the pounding of your heart. The look of how cold and shrewd his eyes are leaves a sour taste in your mouth, but you swallow thickly, nodding. This is your chance. “Given the proper arrangements and compensations, I would be willing to accept the job offer, Mr. Lord.” He nods, that grin still in place as he steps back, returning to his desk.

“Perfect. I’ll have Sam get you set up in the office adjacent to mine.” He gestures to a smaller door off the side of his office. “He’ll go over your paperwork with you to get you on boarded. If anything seems too far from your liking, we can…renegotiate. We’ll have you start today.” Emboldened by the flow of conversation, you stride to the front of his desk, arms crossed. His eyes flick up to you, eyebrow arched as he rights himself, returning your stare. “You’ll be expected to keep the attitude in check, of course.” His voice holds a clear and present danger, one that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up once more. You realize quickly that supplication to his demeanor would do you no favors.

“If you don’t like my attitude, Mr. Lord, then you need not hire me.” He stares ate you, his face unreadable until a predatory smile creeps its way ever so slowly across his lips before he summons Sam to his office, telling the weasel of a man to get your office ready.

“We’ll be seeing quite a lot of each other in the coming days. I hope you’re a quick learner, for your own sake.”

“Was that a threat, Mr. Lord?” Your brow arches, confidence slowly building as his banter begins to remind you of your younger years. Perhaps some of the boy you once knew is still there. You just needed to find him.

“Absolutely.”


	3. You Don't Really Care for Music, Do You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ve made your place as Maxwell’s assistant, much to Sam’s chagrin, and you fall easily in step. Today, an important business deal brings a terrifying realization.

Sitting in the far too plush chair, you tap your pen lightly against your oaken desk as you stare out the floor to ceiling windows. The opulence of your little office makes you uncomfortable, use to being in a small cubicle. Little is probably not the best word to describe this room, as it’s almost the same size as the flat you live in, but compared to the room it jets off of…it’s certainly on the smaller side. With a sigh, you turn in your chair to face the mountains of files stacked across your desk. The transition to Maxwell’s assistant had been rather seamless, despite Sam’s best efforts to make your life a living hell every day when you showed up for work, and in no time at all you were proofing documents and setting up phone interviews for your old friend you now called boss.

You’re several pages in to a quite frankly ridiculous proposal when your door slams open, Maxwell parading in with his usual grandeur. “Grab your bag and your coat, bring the files for the LexCorp agreement. We’re going to lunch.” Your brow furrows at Maxwell’s demand. There had been no lunch meeting on your calendar. In fact, you were suppose to escort him to a meeting on the 11th floor in about ten minutes.

“But what about the meeting with Trinity Electric?” you question, standing and collecting the files requested. Maxwell waves his hand dismissively before checking his watch with an air of impatience.

“Chump change compared to what I have just planted in the thoughts of LexCorp’s CEO. Sam will renegotiate a meeting with Trinity. You and I have bigger fish to fry. Now come on, we can’t be late.” He taps his shoe, arms crossed as you quickly thumb through the files, making sure everything is there before grabbing your coat and folding it neatly over your arm. You follow him from the office, your pace clipped and the sound of your heels echoing off the walls. “When we get back, based on how this goes, I’m going to need you to set up a few phone calls with the big wigs on the Paris Power Board and the Madrid Rare Minerals Organization.” You whip your notepad out, pulling your pen from behind your ear to scribble the notes down. “This will be the next step in the progression of the company’s main mission and you,” his finger hovers just over your nose, “will be the one to help head it.” Your stomach drops, dread filling you. If this was the reagent you had heard whispers of, you want nothing to do with helping to further this “mission.” But you need him to trust you, so you smile through the dread, nodding as you twirl the notepad closed and re-tuck your pen.

“Of course, Mr. Lord.”

The ride to the restaurant he had chosen starts off silent as he sits beside you in the back of the limo, Maxwell staring out the window while you flip through the rest of the file you were interrupted in reading. The man truly spared no expense when it came to…well…anything, really. As you continue to read, however, you begin to hum softly. It’s something you do while deep in thought, and it’s become so second nature half the time you’re unaware you’re even doing it.

~~~~

“ _I want to show you a song!” Maxwell exclaims, grabbing the little girl’s hand and hauling her to her feet in the grass. “I learned it in piano lessons and I think you’ll like it!” Maxwell had been so excited about his piano lessons, showing his best friend absolutely everything he learned, even when it was something as simple as a new scale. And she loved every second of it, sitting on the polished black bench as his little hand struggled to reach the keys._

_This time is no different as she takes her place next to him. He extends his arms with a flair, as if to force up the non-existent sleeves of an elegant performer’s tux. He rests his hands lightly on the keys and takes a deep breath before he begins. The melody is slow and gentle, somber even, and the girl finds herself closing her eyes as she sways back and forth to the lovely sound Maxwell coaxes from the keys. The melody builds, crescendoing to a high point before tapering of in a sound of lament, only to be repeated again. It was beautiful._

_When he finishes, he rests his hands on his thighs, turning a hopeful smile to the girl sitting besides him, that light shining in his eyes. “Well? What do you think?”_

“ _That was beautiful Maxie! You’re so talented!” The girl leans over to hug her friend, giggling in his ear. “What was it called?”_

“ _It’s called ‘Hallelujah.’ There are words to it too. Maybe you can learn them and sing them while I play! And we can get really good and then tour together!” The girl hangs on every word Maxwell says, nodding excitedly. They would tour together and be famous, and she would always have her Maxie._

_~~~_

“Will you stop with that ridiculous humming?” Maxwell snaps, shocking your from your reverie. Hallelujah dies in your throat.

“Apologies, Mr. Lord. I didn’t even know I was doing it.” He grumbles at you, turning to look back out the window. “…You don’t really care for music, do you?” The line from the song seems so fitting here, but Maxwell just huffs.

“You think I have time to enjoy something like music in my line of work?” His eyes cut over to you, his question full of venom. “Of course not, I’m far too busy. I haven’t so much as looked at a piano since I was 15 years old.” Your heart breaks for him. Maxwell had adored the piano, and to hear how disconnected he has become was like sending a shard of ice through your heart.

“I see.” The words hand in the tense silence of the cab of the limo for only a moment as the chauffeur pulls up to the restaurant, coming over to open the door for Maxwell before helping you out. “Thank you, Vaughn.” You flash the driver a smile which he returns, bowing slightly to the both of you before returning to the driver’s seat, pulling away from the building. You look up to the sign, your mouth watering. Farenheight 145, the top steakhouse in all of Metropolis. You’ve heard stories of how amazing the food here is, never having been able to get a reservation here yourself. Maxwell tuts for you, standing by the front door.

“Chop chop! We have a deal to close!” You nod, following him inside. The smell of steak is overwhelming and your stomach growls, mouth watering. “Get whatever you’d like. The more expensive the better. This is as much a monetary flex as it is a business deal.” You nod, staying silent as Maxwell leads you to a private booth where a bald, intimidating looking man sits reading over the wine list. He stands when he catches the two of your approaching, a smile that makes your skin crawl pasted on his face. “Lex! So good to see you!”

“You as well, Maxwell. You seem well.” The man called Lex shakes Maxwell’s hand, and the tension between the two businessmen is palpable. You stay on Maxwell’s right, slightly behind him until Lex turns his eyes to you. “And who might this lovely creature be?” He extends his hand for yous and you offer it to him, fighting the urge to yank it away as he presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“This is my new personal assistant. Someone with a face a bit more approachable than Sam.” His lips quirk up in a smug smile.

“I see. And your name, my dear?” Lex’s voice is deep and rich, but it sets off every alarm in your head that it possibly can and all you want is to get the hell out of there and as far away from him as you can. But you force a smile, feeling Maxwell’s eyes boring into you as you take your hand back, offering your name. “A name that parallels the beauty of the one who carries it.” You can tell that Lex’s charm is how he gets what he wants, and perhaps for others it works. For you, however, it makes your stomach churn.

“Well, let’s to lunch, shall we? Then we can begin discussing the terms of our negotiation. She will be taking detailed notes of all the occurrences here today.” Maxwell gestures offhand to you as you all take your seats, you pulling out your notepad and untucking your pen once more. The waiter comes by with a bottle of wine, allowing Max a sample that he promptly wretches at, sending it away with a look of disdain. “A 1949 Domaine Leroy Gran Cru. Surely they have better than _that_ here.” Now, you’re no sommelier, but you have heard of that particular line of wines, and know they cost several thousand dollars a bottle. And Maxwell just wretched like it was the worst swill he had ever had. Spare no expense…in all things. The poor waiter returns with a different red this time, one that seems to appease Maxwell far more. “Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Romanee-Conti Grand Cru 1990. This will do.” You swallow thickly, horrified to find out what the price tag is on something like this as Maxwell pours a glass and places it in front of you.

“I must say, Maxwell, you have quite the taste in wines,” Lex chuckles, sipping from his own glass before crossing his arms. Maxwell relaxes back against the booth, swirling the glass on the table.

“And in most other things. The answer is always more, with anything, Lex my friend. Which is why I believe you and I are the perfect match to bring the vision of Lord Corp to life and take it to the next level.” Your pen begins scratching at the paper. “You and your companies access to the chemical facilities we spoke of coupled with my corporations ties internationally to both power and rare earth mineral providers is perfect to begin rapid development on the reagent. Within six to nine months of signing our agreement, we could have the first mass batch complete, ready for shipping to the 12 largest cities in the country, with the beginnings of the second in the works.” You have less time than you originally thought. This is bad. Dutifully, your pen continues along the paper.

“And how would we divide the profits?”

“An even split for the first two batches, open to re-negotiation after the fact once we determine the full effects. C’mon, Lex, you can’t pass this up.” Maxwell’s smile borders on lecherous as he stares down the man across the table from him.

“I’ll need contact for all the companies you’re involving overseas,” Lex finally demands, sitting back to sip his wine as the food is placed before you all.

Maxwell clicks his tongue and hisses, shaking his head. “No can do, Lexie. Client confidentiality needs to be maintained.” You swear you see Lex’s brow twitch and you swallow thickly as your hair stands on end. The air around the room is electrifying as the two men challenge one another, neither backing down.

“Jump the split to 55-45, and I’ll ignore the fact that you’ve essentially slapped me in the face with this, Lord.” Lex’s voice is far less friendly now as he cuts into his steak, still glaring down Maxwell.

“52-48 for the first batch, 50-50 for the second, then a renegotiation deal” Maxwell leans forward, resting one arm on the table. “This is the deal of a lifetime, Lex, don’t be a fool.” Lex’s fork drags across the plate with a horrific screech that makes you clench your jaw, tensing in the booth.

“We’ll see who the fool is after the first batch is out for deployment. 52-48, you have a deal.” Max sits back as Lex concedes, smiling his textbook conman smile.

“There, that wasn’t so bad! It’ll be a pleasure to work with you and your company.” Your stomach is doing flips as your finish your notes, setting the pad aside to pick at your meal and at least act like you are enjoying the food and wine. You barely taste the steak and the wine feels like sand in your mouth as you bite back your disgust. You have to stop this. You have to.

After the meal and a terse shake of the hand followed by another knuckle kiss for you, you follow Maxwell out to the car. He’s smug as he looks over to you, and if he can tell you’re shaken by the encounter, he doesn’t mention it. “All in a day’s work. Set up the calls I asked you for before we arrived. We have work to do.”

“Y-yes Mr. Lord.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard any wavering of confidence in that cocky voice of yours,” he quips. “I think I like the sound of it.” His grin your way causes your face to scrunch unpleasantly as you lean away from him, which only serves to make him chuckle.

“I don’t like him, and I don’t trust him.”

“You shouldn’t trust him, he’s the competition. Direct competition. We’ll force him from the deal once everything is securely in my grasp. By that time, his grip on his other sectors will have faltered, spread to thin to maintain, and we’ll buy him out.” He crosses his legs, arm resting along the bench of the limo. How can he be so relaxed right now?

“He’s going to betray you, you know.” Your voice is low as you look over your notes, filling in details from shorthand to full words in preparation of typing them out.

“And just how would you know that?” His voice is amused, as if entertaining the thoughts of a child.

“If you can’t see it, then your own arrogance has clouded your ability to appraise a situation.” Your eyes flash up to see Maxwell staring at you, mouth hanging wide at your accusation before he snaps it shut again. “He’s playing you. He’s just as good at chess as you are. If you think you’re three steps ahead, it’s because he wants you to think that. He’s matched you, and you need to be careful.” You make a few final notes before snapping the pad closed, returning it to your bag. “You’re playing with fire, Mr. Lord.”

Maxwell stares at you, eyes narrowed as he thinks over your words, appraising you. “And just _how_ do you know so much about this line of work?” he asks, leaning forward, elbows rested on his knees and chin on his clasped hands. His tone is much less amused now. Far more…accusatory.

“From watching the best,” you respond, returning his stare. He’s quiet, unmoving as you stare him down before he finally sits back with a light chuckle, shaking his finger at you.

“I knew there was a reason I wanted you around. Keep playing this game of yours and see how long before you end up in the fire yourself.”

You shake your head, crossing your own legs before responding. “I have no intentions on getting caught in the flames. Or letting you fling yourself into them either. You hired me to work alongside you, so I’m not going anywhere.” _I made a promise,_ you think to yourself. Maxwell blinks at your reply, visibly shaken, but only for a moment.

~~~~

“ _My dad says one day I’m going to need to take over his company,” the boy pouts, laying on his back in the grass as he watches the soft clouds roll by. “He says I won’t have time to play around as much anymore. I won’t get to see you as much.”_

“ _That’s crazy,” the girl beside him states matter-of-factly. “We promised we would always be together, right?” She turns her head to look at him, watching his face as he continues to stare at the sky, his eyes shining with unshed tears._

“ _Yeah,” he says in a voice so small it makes the girl want to cry. She reaches out and takes his hand, squeezing gently._

“ _So, I’m not going anywhere.”_

_Maxwell turns to look at his best friend, a blush falling across his cheeks as she smiles at him. The resolution in her eyes brought him some sense of calm, and he returns the squeeze of her hand, his own smile working across his face. He believed her._

_~~~~_

You find yourself back in your office several days after the meeting with Lex, and once again you’re staring out over the skyline of Metropolis. Your pen rests between your teeth, gnawing on it in a nervous habit you thought you had broken yourself of. These past few days you had begun digging through every file you could get your hands on about this business deal with LexCorp, and everything you found chilled you to the bone. There is no way your Maxwell would do something like this…If only his father could see him now, he would be ashamed of the man his son had become. You let out a sigh, letting your head fall back against the headrest of your chair as you begin to hum again, that same song. Maxwell’s favorite to play when he was showing off to you when you were little. _Hallelujah_.

“ _I’d heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord, but you don’t really care for music, do you?_ ” Your voice carries across the room, light and delicate as you keep your voice soft. You take to your feet, walking to the window to gently rest your hand on the glass as you look to the horizon. “ _It goes like this the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift. The baffled king composing Hallelujah._ ” You blink, biting back the tears that quickly fill your eyes. “ _Hallelujah. Hallelujah_.” You take a deep breath, turning back to your desk, collecting everything to take home for the evening. “ _Halleujah, Hallelu-uuu-uujah_.” The sound hangs in the air, swallowed by silence so loud and pressing, it was deafening. You need to leave. You need to get home and away from here. You need space to breathe.

You toss your bag over your shoulder and grab you coat, folding it over your arm before you step into Maxwell’s office to take your leave. “Goodnight, Mr. Lord,” you say quietly. He’s standing, staring our his own window with his hands clasped behind his back. And in his hand, a velvet jewelry box. He turns his head ever so slightly, nodding to you before looking back out over the skyline. Your hand lingers on the handle of his door, watching him. For just a moment, you think you see him trembling. That couldn’t be right… “Get some rest tonight, you have a busy day tomorrow.” And with that, you make your exit, heading home.

After the door shuts and the sound of your heels resounding through the halls can no longer be heard, Maxwell lets out a heavy sigh. He heard you singing, and it pulled at a heart string he had henceforth been unaware of. There was an itch in his memories, something that his mind was fighting to recall, but he just couldn’t. All he knows, is that he wants to hear you sing again. _What is happening to me?_


	4. Travel Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell’s plans continue forward as he has you arrange for a impromptu trip to Spain to meet with stakeholders. He can feel himself slipping the longer he’s around you, and he doesn’t like it.

On a typical day, you find yourself at work long before Maxwell ever arrives. The man has more meetings in a day than you would ever like to have in a month, and it’s on you to make sure they’re all properly prepared for. It’s not uncommon to find yourself up before God and at your desk, scribbling away in the day planner well before the sun crests over the city to paint it in golds of dawn, and today is no exception. So when you quietly open the door to Maxwell’s office in order to get to your own at the bright and early time of 4:45 am, you nearly jump out of your skin at the sight of Maxwell hunched over his desk, hands in his typically immaculate hair. The papers in your hands scatter across the marble floor and you curse under your breath, placing your hand over your heart to calm down.

“Apologies, Mr. Lord. I wasn’t expecting to see you in so early,” you mumble, crouching down to collect your previously organized paperwork. When he doesn’t reply, you look up with concern. He usually at least acknowledged your existence when you walked into the room, even if he didn’t necessarily like the fact that you were there. He hasn’t moved from how you found him, head down with hands tangled in those smooth blonde locks of his. Your heels click softly on the marble as you make your way over to him, and you see that his eyes are closed, his shoulders rising and falling in a slow rhythm. He…is asleep? He must have stayed here all night reading over the contracts you had given him the night previous. Frowning, you move quickly into your office, grabbing the throw blanket you keep on the couch in front of your desk. You know that if you wake him, he would be too stubborn to go home and sleep, so you may as well just let him sleep here. You carefully lay the blanket over him, careful to not disturb him before you head back to you office quietly shutting the door. Time to rearrange some meetings, it seems.

After calling each branch head in the building to instruct that Maxwell was not to be disturbed until further notice and sending out emails to all of his day’s meetings to ask for a reschedule, you sigh as you sit back in your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose.

~~~

_The girl slowly lifts her head from the table, blinking blearily as she looks around. A blanket had been thrown over her shoulders. Strange, she didn’t even remember falling asleep. As she looks around, her eyes land on the little blonde boy sitting a ways away, reading through a book. When he catches her stirring out of the corner of his eye, he looks up and flashes that adorable dimpled smile at her which she readily, all be sleepily, returns._

“ _You looked cold,” he says in his gentle voice, setting his book down._

“ _Thank you, Maxie,” she smiles, pulling the blanket tighter around he._

“ _You need to work less.” He stares pointedly at the table and the girl follows his line of vision, cheeks getting hot as she sees she’s drooled all over her homework. Her tutor would be so upset._

“ _Sorry…” she whispers, eyes downcast. She only looks up when she feels a hand on her shoulder, seeing Maxwell standing next to her, still smiling._

“ _Come on, let’s go play! You can do this lame work later!” She smiles at his suggestion and nods, standing up before wrapping her arms around him, still holding the blanket and now effectively cocooning the both of them together. Innocent giggles hang in the evening air._

_~~~_

As the sun begins to pour through the window of the office, you finally hear some stirring outside your office door, followed by an uncharacteristically gentle knock. You flip closed the document you had been reading through, tucking it into a drawer before calling for the visitor to come in. You’re surprised to see Maxwell there, dark circles under his eyes and his hair a mess. He holds the blanket, now folded, in his hands as he stands at your doorway.

“Good morning, Mr. Lord,” you greet with a soft smile. He simply returns it with a nod, holding out the blanket.

“This yours?” he asks, his voice much more gentle than normal, still thick with sleep. Much more reminiscent of how he use to talk to you. You nod, standing to go and take it from him.

“You looked cold,” you murmur as you smooth your hand over the soft fleece, folding it over your arm.

“You should have woken me.”

“I couldn’t do that. You were dead asleep when I arrived this morning, didn’t even stir with I dropped my files. I assumed you stayed here all night reading the contracts I sent you. You needed the rest.” Your eyes shine with concern and he finds himself unable to meet them for the first time since meeting you.

He clears his throat before speaking again. “What meetings do I have today?”

“None, sir.” You turn to lay the blanket back on your couch before returning to your desk. “I’ve called and rescheduled everything for you.”

“What?” he snaps, storming to your desk. He slams his hands down on in and you jump, looking up at him as he towers over you, his normally crisp suit wrinkled from sleeping in it. He looked…quite unlike himself like this. Disheveled. “You should have woken. Me. Up!” The words hiss through clenched teeth as he glares at you.

You scowl and snap the day planner closed. “And how useful would you have been in any of these meetings with a clouded mind, hm? Look at you.” You take the compact from your purse, popping it open to show him how rumpled he looks. “Showing up looking like you just rolled out of bed. How would you sell anything to anyone looking like that?” You stand, index finger pressed against his chest as he throws your compact down, still glaring at you. “If you don’t want me to do my job, then fire me. I’ve handled everything, nothing is behind schedule. _You_ , Mr. Lord, need to take the day and _go sleep._ ” You can hear his teeth grinding as he glares at you, a look so uncharacteristic of your childhood friend.

He doesn’t move, staying there glaring at you and you match his gaze, refusing to back down. When he finally relents, stepping back and turning to leave, you let out a soft breath before crossing your arms. “Fine, I’ll take the day. I’ll read over the contracts at home.”

“You most certainly will not.” He wheels back around on you, a snarl on his lips.

“Remind me just _who_ the boss is here, again?”

“You, but you hired _me_ to keep you on top of everything. You aren’t reading over those contracts until you can do it with a clear head. Because if you do it now and mess up a contract, you’ll blame _me_ for not keeping you on top of things!” He freezes in his tracks for a moment as he processes your words before standing up straighter and turning on his heel again. He despises the fact that you’re right, it tastes bitter on his tongue.

“I’ll be going home. Come by tonight after work. I need to discuss some travel plans with you.” You blink at his words watching him stride to the door. Travel plans? You shake your head as if to clear it before running after him.

“Mr. Lord, wait just a moment.”

“What?!” he snaps, turning on you yet again before staggering back, not realizing how close you were to him. He leans back when you reach up towards his head, eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

“You have an image to maintain, sir. You can’t go out looking like this.” You reach further, gently running your hands through his soft hair, laying the messy strands back in place as best as you could. Maxwell freezes at the touch, his eyes widening as he watches you, and that familiar tingle in the back of his mind returns. His hand snaps up and grabs your wrist with far more force than necessary, causing you to let out a cry of surprise and discomfort. You stare up at him with wide eyes, and he stares back, a plethora of emotions on his face that you just can’t place as they all meld together.

“Don’t.” His brow furrows as he lowers your hand before letting it go. “Don’t… do that.” He takes a step back, quickly running his hands through his hair before straightening his suit as best he can. “Make sure everything is handled today. I’ll see you this evening.” With that, he turns and strides from the room back to his office, grabbing his briefcase before heading out. For a moment… you could have sworn you saw your Maxie, if only for just a moment. It was all the conformation you need to affix your resolve to save him from whatever madness he had embarked on.

The entire rest of the day Maxwell spends pacing his penthouse living room, glass of brandy in his hand but all but forgotten as his mind races. Who do you think you are reaching out to touch him like that? _No one_ touches him, especially not without his permission. The gall you have to do something so uncouth makes his blood boil. But then again, is that not why he hired you? Your audacity? Your nerve? He lets out a frustrated sigh as he stares out over Metropolis from the only home he really remembers, watching the sun set.

“Who _are_ you?” he whispers, brow creased in consternation. The feeling of your fingers brushing through his hair felt like a memory, and it shook him. He didn’t _know_ you, so why the hell would running your fingers through his hair spark any kind of memory? His parents never did that for him, so why would some firecracker of a woman who he’s never met before spark feelings of nostalgia? He lets out a frustrated yell before throwing the glass against the wall, brandy and shards of crystal scattering everywhere as his shoulders heave with the force of his panting. And then as if on cue, his doorbell rings.

You stand outside of Maxwell’s penthouse, rolling your eyes. The only people more opulent are that Wayne family in Gotham, you’re certain. As you reach up to ring the doorbell, you hear the scream followed by the shattering of glass and your heart lodges in your throat. That was generally a universally bad sign, and with Maxwell’s temper from earlier, you can only imagine the type of mood he’s in. Well, no better time to face the music than right now. With a sigh, you ring the doorbell.

Maxwell stares at his door for a moment, trying to calm himself down. When you ring it a second time, he straightens himself, smoothing out the suit vest he still wore before moving to open the door, looking down his nose at you like he hadn’t just thrown the temper tantrum of a two year old. “Hello, Mr. Lord,” you smile up at him. As you do, the back of his mind tickles with nostalgia again that he desperately tries to brush away before stepping aside to let you enter.

“Right, so, travel plans,” he says, getting straight to business as he goes to pull out another glass from his china hutch, pouring another glass of brandy. The smell of alcohol burns your nose and your eyes find the shattered mess over by the wall, your brow furrowing before Maxwell clearing his throat gets your attention again. “We’re going to Spain.” Your eyes widen for a moment as you sit yourself down on the horribly uncomfortable couch.

“Spain?”

“That’s right,” he nods, that salesman smile in place yet again. Still no dimple. “We need to meet with our backers and suppliers there. And you, Miss Project Manager, will be representing us there.” The color instantly drains from your face and you freeze mid way through pulling out your note pad.

“P-Project Manager? Mr. Lord I don’t think I’m qualified to-” He cuts you off with a wave of his hand, taking a seat on the chair across from you, crossing his legs as he leans back in an attempt to look dignified and relaxed while a the same time letting you know who is in charge here.

“I told you before that you were going to be the one to help head this.” He takes a slow, deliberate sip of his brandy, eyes locked on yours and for a moment you’re sure you know what it feels like to be a bird caught in the gaze of a snake. “Madrid Rare Minerals is headed by the best in the business, and _she_ prefers to work with women. Having you head this will be to our advantage.” _And to mine,_ he thinks, _because you will have no where to run after that._ He watches you for a moment, thinking he enjoys that he’s finally been able to catch you off guard for more than a moment. His lips twitch in the shadow of a smirk. “Well?”

You shake your head, your pen scratching at the paper again as you take your notes and try to swallow the bile bubbling in the back of your throat. You muster as much strength as you can, willing your voice to not shake when you finally ask, “When do we leave?” He chuckles and nods, taking another sip of his favorite poison.

“Tomorrow. We’ll take my private jet.” Your eyes snap up in concern for a moment, staring at him.

“Mr. Lord, I don’t believe I have the right attire to come across as the head of a major project like this. I need time to go and get ready. I haven’t so much as _thought_ about packing.”

“I would have thought that by now you would realize that I have all of that handled.” His lips pull down in a little scowl as he sets the crystal glass down on the coaster on the glass top coffee table. “We’ll get you properly outfitted when we get to Madrid. It’s one of the top fashion capitals in the world. You’ll be fine. I consider it an investment to ensure the face of my operation looks her best.”

When he leans forward, you can still see the dark circles under his eyes, and you wonder if he slept at all after you sent him home today. “We’ll be gone for a week,” he continues and you blink, making notes to change around his other meetings for him, and to arrange phone calls where you could. “And I’ll expect you to be on your best behavior and not embarrass me on the international stage.” His voice is stern and cold and when you glance up at him, he’s full on scowling at you and you feel your heart break a little more as you nod at him.

“I understand, Mr. Lord.”

“Good.” He stands, tugging his waist coat down as he grabs his glass, walking back over to the window to gaze at Metropolis in the night, the lights glittering like someone had plucked the stars straight form the sky and laid them before you. You watch his reflection, his face drawn tight and pensive as he watches the city which is still very much alive. _What on earth happened to take that beautiful smile from you, Maxwell? Who did this to you?_ “You’re dismissed,” he says quietly, not turning to look at you as you stand from your spot on the couch.

He could see your reflection in the glass same as you could his, and he doesn’t like the way the sad frown on your face makes his heart hurt. He doesn’t like the way your mournful gaze makes him want to apologize for every wrong doing he’s ever committed. He doesn’t like the way he wants to hear that musical singing voice again.

You turn and make your way to the door, stopping only to glance back at him to tell him goodnight before you step over the threshold to head home. He stands there for a long time after the door shuts behind you, grip growing ever tighter on his glass as your voice plays that stupid song on repeat over and over. A song he hadn’t played in so many years. A song he had tried his best to forget. His eyes drift over to the grand piano in the corner of the living room. It was one of the few things he kept from his mother’s home when she passed, but ever since the day he took over the company, he hadn’t so much as brushed his fingers across the keys. His scowl deepens, grip tightening until the thin crystal can take no more. It gives under the pressure, shattering in his hand. He hisses as the crystal shards slice open his palm, the red running freely from the gashes as it falls to mix with the brandy now splattered on the ground. He swears loudly, moving to tend the wound, a memory of the heart that still beats in his chest.

~~~~

“ _Maxie you need to be more careful!” the girl scolds as she takes the little blonde boy to the bathroom where the first aid kit sits under the sink. The two had been whittling little sticks down to make wands, the girl’s idea. She saw the world through the lens of magic and wonder and it never ceased to make the boy smile. He would do whatever she asked if it meant she would smile at him. And coincidentally, that’s how the two children ended up here, him sitting on the edge of the tub while she wiped the bleeding gash in his hand with an alcohol swab._

“ _I wanted to show off that new knife trick I learned,” he pouts, trying to pull his hand away from the sting, but she holds it firmly as she pulls out the antiseptic cream and a bandage. “Thought it would impress you.”_

“ _You don’t need to show off to impress me, Maxie.” She smiles up at him as she fastens the bandage, bringing the palm of his hand to her lips to kiss the bandage in the same way her mother soothed her injuries and it makes his cheeks flush as he looks away, embarrassed. “I already like you, you don’t need to show off. Just don’t hurt yourself.”_

_~~~~_

Maxwell shakes his head, clearing whatever image that was that just flashed through his mind’s eye as he washes his hand under the faucet. He wraps it in a messy bandage, not even bothering to check if all the shards were out. He’s slipping, he can feel it. He needs to get his head on straight, or he would crash and burn just like you told him he would.

_Get it together Maxwell._


	5. Madrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s off to Spain for the next part of Maxwell’s plan. But every moment he’s with you, you inch further under his skin, and he can feel his composure cracking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Food mention, a little swearing, alcohol mention, injury mention, blood mention

Spain. You are going to Spain. You are going to Spain in _Maxwell’s private jet._ The sigh that leaves your lips as you wait in front of the elevator, suitcase in tow, sounds so world weary, one would think that what they actually heard was your soul leaving your body. You had taken on this operation praying it would be a quick fix, that Maxwell would come around when he saw you and heard you and that everything would be okay again. Yet here you are, months into the shadiest job you have _ever_ taken, getting ready to fly to Spain to further this demented plan of his to take over the world, apparently. You know something is wrong with Maxwell, you just needed to find out what. And you needed to do so quickly. The clock left for his salvation slowly ticked away, and each passing day increased the risk of losing him, and yourself, forever.

Your heels click sharply against the marble as they do every day, but rather than leaving you alone as he normally does, today Sam decides to stop you. You give him your strongest, most exasperated glare but he simply ignores it, crossing his arms over his chest. He never did get around to tailoring his suit, so it still hung off of him like a child playing dress up. “What do you need, Preston? I’m busy.”

“It should be me on that trip, you know.” Since the day Maxwell on boarded you, Sam has despised you. He keeps his words proper, but the looks he would shoot you as you passed him at Maxwell’s side left no room for misinterpretation. You had taken his job and his chance at climbing the corporate ladder.

“Maybe if you actually did your job, you would be.” Sam visibly bristles at your comment, getting in your face but you make no move to back away.

“You listen here, bitch. You don’t know the first thing about working for someone like him. I’ve been working for him for ten years, you don’t just get to waltz in here and take everything that should be mine!”

As he seethes, you check your watch absently before tossing him a bored look. “Sucks to be you, Sam. Try not to burn down the building while we’re gone. Those baggy sleeves are a fire hazard.” With that, you turn on your heel and head into Maxwell’s office, refraining from knocking as you ignore the indignant comments behind you.

Maxwell’s eyes dart up from the document in front of him, his expression irritated at the lack of warning that doesn’t exactly soften when he sees you. “Just because you’ve been my assistant for a handful of months, doesn’t mean you’re excused from knocking before you enter.”

You huff, setting the suitcase to the side of the door. “Sorry, Mr. Lord. Lost my manners over the irritation your former assistant caused me.”

“Sam is still bothering you?”

“He has since the day I joined the company. He just decided this morning was a good time to shirk his work to come tell me to my face instead of glaring daggers at me from his desk.” You drape your coat over the case, moving to your office door. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes, I just need to gather some paperwork to take with me.” He watches as you head into your partition, scowl firmly on his face before he sits back in his chair.

After you had left last night, he had gotten barely any sleep at all. His normally dreamless slumber was plagued for the first time since he could remember with images and sounds that made no sense at all, and faded so quickly when he finally woke that he had no way to look back on them. All he could remember was a soft voice, and the feeling of such immense warmth that he woke on the verge of tears. Maxwell Lord does not cry, so the very thought that he could wake up in such a state disgusted him. Instead of attempting to go back to sleep, he elected to go to work and wait for you to leave as quickly as possible. The sooner he could get to Madrid, the sooner he could distract himself with the next phase of his mission.

Not long after you step into your office, you’re stepping back out with a briefcase in hand. “When you’re ready, Mr. Lord.” His eyes snap to you from where they had been boring a hole into his desk, but he quickly composes himself, adorning his face with that smarmy smile that raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

“Finally. We have a plane to catch.” With that, he stands and grabs his case, you following at his heels.

The flight is uneventful. You sit across from him, legs crossed and notepad in your lap as you work at scribbling notes for rescheduled meetings and phone calls. The glass of brandy the flight attendant had poured for you sits untouched on your table as you work.

After an hour or two of silence, Maxwell turns from gazing out the window to look at you. Your reading glasses are low on the tip of your nose, your lip between your teeth as you scratch away at the paper. He had to admit, for as unconventional as your hiring had been, you had been a damn good assistant. Better than Sam, for certain, though that bar was relatively low. Eventually, you feel his eyes on you, flicking your own up to see him briefly before looking back at your pad of paper. “Is something the matter, Mr. Lord?”

He startles when you say his name, looking back out the window and he shifts how he has his legs crossed. “No. The scratch of your pen is getting annoying.” You look up at him as your pen stills, confusion on your face.

“I’m sorry, should I stop preparing for the meeting?” Maxwell simply waves his hand dismissively and you sigh, flipping the pad closed and tucking it in your bag before looking out the window.

~~~~~

_The young girl lays on the plush rug of the foyer, flipping through page after page in the travel book her mother had bought her. The pictures were all so pretty, beautiful snapshots of far away places that she longed to visit. Spain, Portugal, Korea, South Africa, France, Russia, Argentina…. She wanted to go absolutely everywhere. Her eyes dart up from the book when she hears the front door open, a smile breaking across her face when she sees her Maxie run in._

“ _I’ve been looking all over for you!” he huffs, exasperated as he plops down next to her._

“ _I’m sorry Maxie, I was looking at my new book!” Intrigue sparks in the boy’s eyes as he lays down on his stomach beside her._

“ _What’s it about?”_

“ _Places to travel! All places in the world!”_

“ _Would you wanna travel with me?” he asks, turning to look at his friend._

“ _We can go everywhere together Maxie! But we should go here first!” Her little fingers point to the page she’s currently on; Madrid, Spain. “Mom is making me learn Spanish so I can translate for us!” Max grabs the book, flipping through the pages on Spain with shining eyes._

“ _It’s pretty! We’ll go one day, once I’m in charge of things! I can take you anywhere you wanna go!” the girl giggles, throwing her arms around her friend, knowing full well he would make good on his promise._

_~~~~_

You blink as the memory fades, wishing current circumstances were different. “I’ve never been to Spain,” you finally offer, tired of the silence when you have nothing else to focus on. Maxwell turns to look at you, waiting for you to say more. “I’ve never really even left Metropolis. Never had a reason to. I’ve been to Gotham once or twice for an event for the Wayne foundation, but that’s it.”

“Then you should thank me for giving you this opportunity.” Why did he hate the way those words tasted on his tongue? You aren’t the first he’s said such things to, but you’re the first to make him feel like this. He brushes it aside, refusing to let you get under his skin.

Your lips quirk ever so slightly as you look back at him. “You also forced me into a potentially compromising position, so let’s get this meeting over with before I offer you any of my gratitude, Mr. Lord.” His eyebrow twitches up at your response, that attitude once more catching him off guard. He mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite catch as he turns to look back out the window, and you decide that is the end of the conversation. Leaning back in your seat, you allow yourself some time to rest, the flight having several more hours yet to go.

Madrid is as beautiful as you had heard, a blend of old and new in the sprawling city. Your eyes never leave the window of the limo as you’re chauffeured to the hotel you’ll be staying in. The smirk is frozen on Maxwell’s face, a strange smugness washing over him as he watches your reaction to the sights of the city. Everything he would do here would only aid to wrap you further around his fingers. _His little pawn._ He disregards the twinge of guilt that thought brings him, opting to begin prattling on about all of the places he’s been here and expensive foods and wines he’s enjoyed. You acknowledge him with yeses and mhms as he tries to awe you in this bizarre manner.

When you finally make it to your hotel, you give the chauffeur a quick thank you before catching up to Maxwell. A greeter waits for you in the lobby, reaching out to grasp Maxwell’s gloved hand in a firm shake. It’s barely there, but you notice him wince and pull away quicker than normal, and a concerned frown tugs at your lips. You say nothing, however, until you’re upstairs in the penthouse suite. Spare no expense strikes yet again. Maxwell gestures to the room that would be yours as he makes his way to his own. He’s over 48 hours now without sleep, and it’s starting to affect him.

“Mr. Lord?” you call to him softly, and he freezes, tuning his head just enough to look back over his shoulder at you. “Is your hand alright?”

“It’s fine,” he snips, continuing to his room and shutting the door behind him, closing you out once more. You let out a sigh as you go to your own room, quietly shutting the door to. He’s lying, you know he is. You’ve always been able to tell when he was, no matter how good he had gotten at the art through his time with Lord Corp. You would confront him again after sleeping off the jetlag.

~~~~

“Not that one,” Maxwell snaps, shooing you back into the changing room with a wave of his hand. You let out an exasperated sigh as you go to try on what feels like the hundredth outfit of the afternoon. After finally falling asleep, you had been gracelessly woken from a dreamless slumber by a loud pounding on your door and Maxwell demanding you get up so you could get the appropriate attire for the meeting the following day. You threw the door open, hair a mess and clothes rumpled, only to glare daggers at your boss. He looked down his nose at you, giving you a simple command to get dressed before heading back to his own room.

“If you make me try on every outfit in this store, then I’m going to hand in my resignation papers as soon as we’re back to the hotel,” you gripe from the dressing room as you tug on a slate gray blazer.

“Do you even realize how many women would _kill_ for the opportunity I’m affording you right now? You should be grateful!” You roll your eyes at his comment, mimicking him in the mirror as he rambles about the importance of your image to the success of his mission. “This is the top of the line fashion store in the _world_!”

You throw open the door of the changing room, this time striding out in a crisp gray power suit with a wine red undershirt, the top button undone. It’s one of the more simple outfits you’ve tried on, but it definitely makes you feel powerful. You stand with your hips cocked, hands resting on them as you arch an eyebrow in question. Maxwell’s own eyebrows raise before he stands, circling around you like he’s sizing you up to devour you. “There we are. Perfect.” He steps back, stroking his jaw as his eyes glint dangerously. “There’s no way they’ll say no to you if you come in dressed like this.”

“Then if you’re done dressing me like some porcelain doll, I’d like to go back to the hotel and finish sleeping.” You cross your arms, hip still cocked as your exhaustion has you emboldened.

“You need to be on the right time table.” His statement is simple and infuriating. Simply infuriating. So, to keep from attempting to strangle your childhood friend who you’re in the process of trying to save, therefore defeating the whole purpose, you turn to go get changed back into your dressed down attire.

The rest of the day is spent in a similar manner. Shoes, accessories, perfumes…. All bought on the company black card. By the time you finally stumble back to the hotel for dinner, you’re thoroughly exhausted and ready to tear Maxwell’s head from his body. The _entire_ day he’s been talking non-stop. Raving about everything he knows about Madrid, about all the things he’s done and seen as if it would impress you. Or maybe he recognized that it annoyed you and that’s why he kept it up. As the door shuts behind you, you’ve finally had enough.

“Mr. Lord, _shut up!_ ” you snap, pinching the bridge of your nose as you fight off an oncoming headache.

“ _What_ did you just say to me?” He glares at you from the middle of the room, hands on his hips. “Don’t forget who brought you here.”

“I didn’t _ask_ to come with you, Maxwell!” Exhaustion has pushed you to the point of ignoring formalities as you stalk towards him. “ _You_ demanded I come with you! _You_ demanded I front your obscene little game here. _You_ demanded I be your little dress up doll for the day. So do _not_ lord this over me or I will walk out that door _right now_ and find my own way back to Metropolis!” Maxwell glares down at you as your pointer finger digs into his chest.

“I told you not to touch me.” His voice is low, dangerous, and it makes your skin crawl. His hand grips your wrist harshly, yanking it away from him and you immediately notice him wince as he does, letting go of your hand as he takes a step back. Before he can pull too far, however, you grab his hand and yank off those ridiculous black leather gloves he’s been wearing since you showed up in his office the morning of the flight. “What did I _just_ say?!” he seethes, trying to yank his hand back, but falters at the concerned look he catches you giving him when your eyes land on the blood soaked bandage.

“… You’re hurt,” you whisper, all anger leaving you at the thought of your friend in pain.

“I-I’m fine,” he protests, trying to yank his hand away again but you only grip his wrist tighter, holding him in place.

“No, you’re not, Mr. Lord, and if you don’t take care of this it’ll get infected. Go sit on the couch.” You let go of his wrist to pull your travelers first aid kit from your bag, pausing only to shoo him to the couch when he doesn’t move at first.

He could have told you no. He could have just walked into his room and shut the door. Hell, he could have fired you on the spot for your actions. Instead, he finds himself walking to the couch and sitting down, waiting on you. You rejoin him shortly, laying the kit on the coffee table in front of you. “How did you hurt yourself?” you ask softly, carefully removing the soiled bandage, trying your best not to hurt him more.

“Broken glass,” he states simply, watching as your fingers move delicately across his soft skin. You nod, picking up a pair of tweezers. “What are you doing?”

“Checking to make sure you got it all out.” You keep your voice low, gentle, like talking to a frightened animal as you carefully assess the gash. “You probably should have gotten stitches for this, it’s pretty deep.” You carefully grip a tiny splinter, pulling it free as Maxwell hisses beside you. “I’m sorry, but I need to get it out.” He says nothing in reply, still tense as you work, pulling out several more splinters before setting the tweezers down and grabbing the sanitizing wipes.

Your face while you work is concentrated, your brow pinched as you focus on his hand. Maxwell notices how your tongue peaks out just a little bit as you work, and that memory that flashed in his mind while he cleaned his own hand the night you came over flashes through his mind again, knocking the wind out of him. Your eyes dart up to his face at the sound of his gasp, worried when you find him wide-eyed and staring at you, frozen in place. “Maxwell?” you ask softly, worried you had done something to seriously hurt him.

“Who… who _are_ you?” he finally manages to choke out. Your shoulders tense as you look back to your work, swiping the area with several alcohol swabs before grabbing the antiseptic and the bandages. “You know me, don’t you? This whole time, you’ve known me.”

“The whole world knows you, Mr. Lord. You run the biggest company in the world.” You keep your eyes averted as you secure the bandage, smoothing it gently when you’ve finished. You don’t put it back in his lap, instead letting it rest in your own hands on your lap as you feel your eyes burn with tears.

“That’s not what I mean!” he snaps, and you flinch. Maxwell yanks his hand from your lap, standing and running his good hand through his hair. It falls into his face as he paces furiously before stopping in front of you, pointing his finger accusatorially. “Something about you has been strange since the day you lied your way into my office!” You finally lift your gaze to meet his, eyes watering.

~~~~

_She was a mess. This poor little girl sitting on the porch of her own house in tears after one of the worst days of her life. She had fought with her best friend. He had pointed at her, yelled at her, and left her guilty and in tears on the steps of her home as he stormed next door. She could hear the door slam behind him and that’s when she really lost it, sobs wracking her tiny chest._

_She didn’t know how long she sat out there on the porch, crying until she had no more tears to cry and all she wanted was her Maxie to hold her and tell her it was okay and that he wasn’t mad anymore. She brought her knees to her chest, hiding her face and her occasional sniffle._

“ _I’m sorry,” comes a soft voice that makes her lift her head from her knees. It’s her Maxie, standing there with red eyes and a beautiful daisy in his hand. He knew they were one of her favorite flowers, and that’s why she always made crowns out of them. She rubs her bleary eyes as she looks up at him._

“ _Are you still mad at me?”_

_Little Maxwell shakes his head, sitting down next to her as he throws his arm around her shoulders. “No. I was being stupid. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He tries to offer her the daisy again, and this time she takes it with a gentle smile before leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek._

“ _Thank you, Maxie.”_

_~~~~_

The sight of your eyes watering feels like a punch to the gut for Maxwell, and it causes his hand to shake. “I tried to tell you but you didn’t believe me,” you whisper with a shaky voice, clasping your hands tightly in your lap.

“Lex sent you to me, didn’t he?! He put you up to this! He’s trying to get at me from the inside. Oooooh ho ho, that little _snake!”_ He honestly sounds deranged, a man on the verge of losing his mind, and it terrifies you. 

“I don’t work for Luthor! I want nothing to do with him.” You jump to your feet, rounding the table and getting in Maxwell’s face again. “I don’t want much in this life, Maxwell Lord. In fact, I only want one thing.”

“And what is that,” he sneers, baring his teeth at you in a manner so undignified you almost can’t believe it comes from him.

“I want to know why my best friend of fourteen years suddenly forgot I existed.” With that, you stride past him, slamming and locking your door behind you before collapsing on your bed, sobbing into the pillow. Maybe he really was gone….

Maxwell stands in the middle of the living room of the suite, jaw on the floor. Best friend? What the _fuck_ did you mean by best friend? He frantically runs his hands through his hair as he lets out a frustrated scream before going to his own room and slamming the door. He had a feeling sleep would be eluding him once again. 


	6. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today is the big day: Negotiations with Madrid Rare Minerals gives you a chance to flex your own abilities. Upon returning home, you realize something is very wrong with Maxwell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Food mention, a little swearing, alcohol mention, injury mention, blood mention

Morning comes after a less than restful sleep, the sound of your alarm jarring you awake for a day you’d much rather not happen. With a groan, you kill your alarm, sighing into the pillow before rolling out of bed. You pull on your robe to make your way to the outfitted kitchen to brew a pot of coffee after Maxwell insisted on buying the most expensive grounds he could find.

“You’re finally awake.” You jump at the voice, eyes cutting to the dining table to find Maxwell completely dressed, not a hair out of place. Compared to him, you must look like some Brothers Grimm creature. Maybe a bog hag that just slunk from her swampy home. 

“And you apparently got up before God to be ready to go already. Heaven only knows how much time you spend on your hair,” you grumble, moving past him to the kitchen to start the coffee pot, pulling down a mug after you do.

“That implies I ever slept,” he counters, eyes never leaving the documents spread out on the table in front of him.

You scoff, leaning against the counter as you watch the pot brew. “You’re not one to get the pre-meeting jitters, Mr. Lord.”

“Who ever said anything about pre-meeting jitters?” He stacks the papers neatly, slotting them back in their folder. “This is a big meeting, I need to be completely prepared. And so do you.”

His tone borders on accusatory and you bristle. As if you hadn’t been the one proofreading every exchange with Madrid Rare Minerals for the past month. “I know plenty, thank you very much.” The coffee dings, and you quickly pour yourself a mug, adding a bit of the complementary creamer before heading back to your room. “Your lack of faith is insulting, Mr. Lord. I’ll be out when I’m dressed.” With that, you slam your door with far more force than necessary, leaving Maxwell at the table, staring at the door. For getting to work as early as you do, you’re very clearly not a morning person. 

Safely closed off in your room, you take a seat in front of the vanity. You look like a zombie; eyes sunken in and dull, hair a mess. With a sigh, you break out your makeup bag, dumping the contents over the desk to begin getting ready.

~~~~

“ _What is all that?” the boy asks, watching the girl sit at her brand new vanity from his spot on her bed. She had been begging her mother for one for months now, ever since she saw it advertised on the TV._

“ _Makeup! To make me pretty like our moms!” She turns and smiles at him, excited to try the new makeup set her mother had bought her. It was that play makeup marketed towards young kids, mostly in pinks and oranges. Nothing of quality, but it was enough to amuse the little girl as she played dress up._

“ _You’re already pretty though.” The words are so succinct and resolute, they very nearly make the little girl cry as she turns around, her bottom lip trembling and eyes wide._

“ _You think I’m pretty, Maxie?” The boy nods assuredly, face deadly serious for a 13 year old_

“ _The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen! Except for my mama,” he tacks on, almost as an afterthought. The girl springs up, running over to pounce on her friend, wrapping her arms around him tightly as he protests loudly._

“ _And you’re the handsomest guy I’ve ever seen!” The two laugh and giggle as they roll around on her bed, play wrestling. And it is good and pure._

_~~~~_

Your lip quivers as you suck in a deep, steadying breath. So many things have been reminding you of your childhood lately, it’s growing harder and harder to not simply tell Maxwell outright over and over until he accepts the fact as the truth. But if the sight of his mother’s necklace wasn’t enough, surely simply berating him until he listened would have no effect either. With each passing day, your heart breaks a little bit more.

But you can’t think about that now. You have a job to do, and in order to stay close to Maxwell, you have to do it well. And so, you steel yourself, dolling yourself up in the most professional way you can before turning to your clothes, the new power suit an immediate boost to your mood. You gather your things, spritzing yourself with perfume before striding out the door, checking your watch as you go. “Alright Mr. Lord, I’m ready.” When he doesn’t reply, you glance up, finding him still at the table, eyes wide as he takes in your appearance. “Mr. Lord? Is everything alright?” Your brow pinches in concern and he blinks as if snapping out of a trance, jumping to his feet.

“I’m fine. Let’s go. Doña Montero hates to be kept waiting.” He turns away from you, marching to the door as you follow dutifully, brow still furrowed in concern.

The drive is short and quiet, Maxwell pointedly looking away from you the entire drive as you look over your notes once more. By this point, you have everything you could possibly need to know memorized; from metals and alloys to revenue and production schedules, it’s all in your head. Even so, you can’t help the anxiety that pools in your stomach as you think about what you are about to do, what you are facilitating. You’re not just an accomplice in this, you’re an active participant. And you have a feeling that’s exactly why Maxwell demanded you spearhead this. Because now, you can’t run away. You know he won’t let you. 

The chauffeur pulls into a long drive lined with beautiful trees and the door is opened by a staff member who graciously helps you out. You thank him in Spanish and he smiles at you, cheeks tinging pink as you offer him a smile before he bows respectfully to Maxwell.

“Doña Montero is waiting for you inside,” the attendant states, turning to lead you in. “Please, follow me.” You square your shoulders, taking a deep breath as you stride confidently behind him, Maxwell at your side appraising your every move. And he must say, he’s impressed. You clean up quite well.

Double gilded doors open to a grand library, a large desk situated in the middle covered in well organized documents and a crystal decanter that looks like it costs more than the entirety of your worldly possessions combined. At the desk, sits an absolutely gorgeous woman with long, flowing black hair and high cheekbones. Her features are sharp, distinguished, and she holds herself with such an overflowing confidence that you resist the urge to shrink under her gaze. As the attendant introduces you both, her eyes flick up and she smiles, folding her hands under her chin as he sizes you up.

“Take a seat, _por favor_.” She gestures to the two chairs in front of her desk and Maxwell sits confidently while you take your own seat with far more grace. She eyes Maxwell before turning to focus on you, lips curling in a beautiful, predatory smile. “You are the one I will be conducting business with, _sí?”_

“ _Claro. Soy gerente de negocios. Mucho gusto, Doña Montero.”_ _Of course. I’m the negotiations manager. Nice to meet you Doña Montero._ You smile confidently, crossing your legs and leaning forward. Thank God your mother had insisted on your Spanish lessons. Though, you wish their use was under better circumstances.

The Doña’s face is pleasantly surprised, and you can feel Maxwell’s eyes on you. You had written Spanish on your resume, but he had no idea you were so fluent. Montero sits back in her chair, smile never wavering. “You speak Spanish well, and with a good accent. I almost thought you were a native.” She chuckles, but it sounds hollow, and you recognize immediately that this woman is no different from Maxwell. It’s all an act. “Please, call me Elena. We are friends, no?” You nod, smile still on your face. “Your offer is most intriguing, _señorita_. I’ve spent the past days rereading it.” She taps the folder in front of her.

“I’m pleased to hear such, Elena. I’m sure you realize how mutually beneficial this agreement has the potential to be.”

She hums softly, eyes flicking down to the paper in front of her. “Your upfront payment offer is lower than anything I have been offered in the past. You must know, it borders on insulting.” You had mentioned this to Maxwell, but he had insisted starting lower than he expected to sell on, assuring you it would all be fine so long as you stick to the bartering plan.

“We are both women of business, no? Surely you understand the manner of negotiations.” You raise your eyebrows before bringing your briefcase onto your lap, opening it to pull out a red folder. Flashy folders always caught the eyes of shrewd businessmen and women. You hand her the folder before taking your seat again, much more relaxed this time. “Inside, you’ll find the projections for the next three years. The amount of material we will be needing from you will keep you funded for the next fifteen years at least, all financed through Lord Corp. A constant paycheck, every month, with 15% upfront for the first year’s worth of material.”

She flicks open the folder, perfectly manicured hands flipping through the pages as she skims the document. “15% is too low for such a risky investment. I want half for the first year up front, and 35% at the beginning of the year for the two following.”

You chuckle and shake your head, leaning forward again. “I understand your reservations, Elena,” you say her name with as much respect as you can muster, but it tastes bitter on your tongue. “But you must see where we are coming from. This is such a rare element, we have to ensure our own gains as well. Too much up front is a risky bargain for us. I’ve read the geological surveys, the cost analysis. I know how expensive it is for you to mine this particular element. How little drive you have to dig out any more than necessary.” Her eyes flick up to you as she snaps your folder closed.

“I’m listening.”

“I am not an unreasonable woman, nor is Lord Corp an unreasonable corporation. 25% up front for the first year, and 10% for each of the following years.” Max fidgets in his seat. That’s lower than he had instructed you. This is a gamble that could lose you the deal.

“Forgive me for laughing,” she says with a chuckle. “But that low of a bargain I cannot meet. 45% up front, 25 for the following.”

“I do like your style, Doña Elena, you drive a hard bargain, and I can respect that. So long as you respect me as well.” Her eyebrow arches at your tone, no one having had the gall to speak to her in such a way in a very long time, and Maxwell does his best to keep the shock off his face. “30% up front, 12 for the following years. And this, Doña, is my final offer. If you decline this, you miss out on the chance to have your name further immortalized in history on the world stage.” You sit back in your chair, positively oozing confidence as your heart hammers within your chest.

She’s quiet for a very long time, watching you before glancing back down to the folder. Maxwell is drawn as tight as a bowstring ready to snap, the anxiety radiating off of him. Your final offer was still too low, and he can feel his chances slipping away from him as he fights the urge to not explode on you. Eventually, a smile splits Elena’s lips, and she stands, rounding her desk to hold her hand out to you. You rise to your feet, reaching out to take her hand.

“I like your style. You’re passionate, cunning, and ruthless. Just like me. I’ll agree to your terms. 30% up front and 12 for the following years. I expect you to come through on this.” Her grip is like a vice, and you can tell she’s fought tooth and nail to establish herself here. A woman of prowess. 

“Of course, Doña Elena. You have our word. And thank you for doing business with Lord Corp.” She drops your hand, turning to look at Maxwell.

“I like this one. You’d do well to keep her around.” Maxwell gives a terse smile at her comment, nodding and thanking her for her time before turning to follow the attendant back out. You hesitate only when Elena calls your name, turning to look at her. “Keep your head above water.” With that, she returns to her desk, the attendant leading you back out to the waiting car. Worry settles heavy in your stomach as the door is opened for you, sliding in after Maxwell.

As the door shuts behind you, you suddenly feel stifled, the anger positively _rolling_ off of Maxwell. He’s livid, absolutely livid. “Mr. Lord-”

“Shut up!” he snaps, turning to glare daggers at you. “What you did was stupid! Risky! You went against _everything_ I told you! You could have lost us the deal!”

“I had her right where we wanted her!” you snap back. “You put this business deal in my hands, so you get no say in how I negotiate with a woman who didn’t even want to _look_ at you.” You cross your arms over your chest, glowering at him as his shoulders heave in annoyance. “If you don’t like the way I do things, you should have left me in Metropolis.”

“If you screw this up for me…,” he begins, voice low.

“I didn’t! I got you a better deal than the one you outlined. You should be _thanking_ me, not scolding me like a child!”

He scoffs at that, rolling his eyes. “You went against explicit orders from your employer. You’re lucky I don’t fire you right here!”

“Why are you always so _mad_ at me?! I do nothing but my best for you and all you do is _chastise_ me!” You can feel your eyes brimming with tears, the momentary pride you felt at a successful business deal, no matter the purpose behind it, melting away.

Maxwell does a double take when he sees the tears, yanking his kerchief from his breast pocket and handing it to you. “Your makeup will run,” he mumbles as you take it, dabbing at the corners of your eyes.

“I get I’m just a puppet, trust me, you make it painfully obvious, but _Jesus Christ_ you could be a little less cruel about it.” You turn to glare out the window as your words run Maxwell through, guilt suddenly settling heavy in his gut.

The rest of the drive is silent, and you continue to not speak as you follow him up to the suite, striding into your room to take off the ridiculous suit in favor of something more practical and comfortable. Just as you’re about to close your door, he calls your name softly, and you turn to glare at him. That glare promptly falls away when you see the blood soaked bandage around his hand. He must have clenched his fists hard enough to break any scabbing that had been done. With a sigh, you return to his side, gesturing to the table where the med kit still sits, and he takes a seat on the couch.

“You need to be more careful, Maxwell,” you murmur, and the sentence feels like a slap in the face. He’s heard that before. The same tone and inflection, the same concern. He _knows_ he’s heard it before but he _doesn’t know where_. You carefully undress the wound, grabbing the wipes to clean it again and the sting pulls him from his thoughts, watching you intently. You treat him so tenderly, like he’s made of glass, and your fingers feel so nice smoothing down the clean dressing. He can’t help it when you go to pull away, his hand wrapping around yours, keeping you there in front of him. Confused eyes glace up to look at him, and when you lock with his own, it feels like the wind is knocked from your lungs. Those eyes looking back at you aren’t the eyes of the businessman you work for. No… No, those eyes belong to the Maxwell you used to know. They belong to your Maxie.

~~~~

_The boy stands on her porch, a flower in his hand. It’s a beautiful lily, the flower he always brought her after he’d been gone for too long. His heart hammers in his chest as he waits for the door to open, rehearsing what to say in his mind._

_When the door opens, all words fail him. She looks so beautiful in her new summer dress her mother had gotten her. She’d called him about it, raving at how much she loves it, and he can see why._

“ _Maxie?” she questions, eyes wide. It had been nearly two months since they last saw one another._

“ _Hey beautiful,” he whispers. “I brought you something.” He holds the flower out to her, and she smiles as he takes it, holding it close to her chest as she steps closer to him, looking up at his handsome face. His blonde hair had darkened to a chestnut brown as he grew older that complemented his skin so beautifully. He was growing into himself, looking professional in a well tailored suit. But even with the changes, he was still her Maxie._

“ _You’ve been gone so long,” she laments, and his face falls. Learning the family business had taken up so much of his time, he barely got to see her anymore. And he could tell it was tearing her apart._

“ _I’m sorry.” He offers no excuse, because there is none. “I missed you.”_

“ _I missed you too, Maxie.”_

_He opens his mouth to say something just as his pager goes off. He sighs as he glances at the number before looking back to the girl on her porch looking painfully crestfallen. “It’s work,” he mumbles, wanting nothing more than to just stay here with her._

“ _You should go then. You can’t keep your dad waiting.”_

_Maxwell nods, hesitating for just a moment before leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek. When he pulls back, her eyes are wide and shining and he smiles at her sweetly. “Don’t miss me too much, okay?”_

_The girl nods, raising her hand to her cheek as she watches Maxwell descend her porch, heading to his home to catch a ride with their driver. Little did she know it would be the last time for a long time that she watches him walk away._

_~~~~_

“Maxie?” you breath out, his face so close to your own, and for a moment, you see a light of recognition before his face contorts in pain. He lets out a wounded cry, gripping at the sides of his head as he curls in on himself, slumping over on the couch. “Maxwell?!” you cry, jumping to your feet to try and soothe him, hands flitting over him as you try to discern the issue. “Maxwell, what’s wrong?!” Panic grips your chest as he doesn’t respond, crying in agony at the feeling of his skull being split in two.

What the hell is happening?


End file.
